


12/24

by Owlix



Series: Managing To Avoid Drowning [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: F/M, Families of Choice, M/M, dealing with old trauma, managing to avoid drowning, not a story about Christmas, ptsd anniversary reactions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Owlix/pseuds/Owlix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Snake ran to Alaska, where it was always winter and never really Christmas. Dead inside, and drinking to help himself stay that way.</p><p>It worked, for a while. The dogs helped. Dogs and snow and liquor and cigarettes, and a growing sense of dread and grief and, worse, overwhelming numbness that crept up on him slow and struck at the same time each year, whether he knew the date or not.</p><p> </p><p>Written as a companion piece to "Not Drowning"</p>
            </blockquote>





	12/24

****

Snake had always hated Christmas.

****

As a child, shuffled through state-run group homes and strings of foster families, of course the holiday had bothered him. It was worse in foster care than in the group homes - other peoples’ families trying to welcome him when it was clear that he would never fit, their false affections grating and alienating and difficult to bear.

Christmas was for families. Dave didn’t have one. Would never have one. He was too violent. Too strange.

Even then, he’d been different than the others. Lesser. Half little boy, half beast.

****

He hated Christmas almost as much once he became a man. It was worse in civilian life - far worse - but he couldn’t escape it even at base, even on the front lines. It followed him everywhere - the cards sent to other people, with green and red envelopes, the bad Christmas decorations, the idiotic, repetitive songs.

It was worse after he joined Foxhound. For some inexplicable reason, Foxhound’s commander - the terrifying monster of a man known as Big Boss, the man who had taught Snake a hundred ways to murder someone with a knife or with his own bare hands - loved Christmas. Word was he even watched Norad “track” Santa all night on Christmas Eve, cigar between his teeth.

After Big Boss was gone - presumed dead by Snake’s own hands, labeled a traitor - the rest of Foxhound just clung tighter to his traditions. That December, Christmas was everywhere.

No, Snake couldn’t escape the holiday, even here. So when, as a young man, he was called for a mission on Christmas Eve in 1999, he’d been glad to do it. Better for him to go than someone else. At least there would be no Christmas carols in the jungle. And he had no fine memories to ruin.

****

Adrenaline wore off slowly on the chopper ride home. Snake stared at his hands, singed raw from his makeshift flamethrower, feeling nothing. Dead inside. Like Gray Fox had pulled Snake’s own soul with him when he’d died, and left this body behind with nothing left in it. Nothing. Even the pain felt far away.

The clouds rushed by beside him, and the seat rattled and hummed. Holly and Charlie belted out Christmas carols over the roar of the engine, both deliriously glad to be alive.

Whatever joy in life the battle had given him was seeping out again, and Snake grew colder. Holly’s warmth against him chafed.

 _Holly._ He really couldn’t escape this fucking holiday, no matter where he ran to.

She leaned close, yelled loud so he could hear her over the engine. “Christmas dinner. You promised.”

Another Christmas dinner, surrounded by what he could never have. Sneaking out of the base was simple for a man like him. He didn’t say goodbye.

****

Snake ran to Alaska, where it was always winter and never really Christmas. Dead inside, and drinking to help himself stay that way.

It worked, for a while. Worked as long as he stayed away from mirrors, kept himself from catching glimpses of his murdered father in his own reflected face. Worked until he saw the shadow of a fox across the snow.

The dogs helped. The dogs lived in the now. The dogs accepted him for what he was. He could even cry, if he was drunk enough, with his face pressed into their fur.

Dogs and snow and liquor and cigarettes, and a growing sense of dread and grief and, worse, overwhelming numbness that crept up on him slow and struck at the same time each winter, whether he knew the date or not.

****

But they drugged him and pulled him out of that purgatory, shot his dogs and left them to die in the snow, and left the rest to starve. Shaved his face, which was good, because without the beard he didn’t look much like his father, and set him on a trail like he was a dog himself. Maybe he was. He wasn’t sure that he even minded, much. Like the dogs, this way he could live in the here and now.

He came home with another woman. Meryl. She was harder to get rid of. Fierce and young and alive and beautiful. Nothing like him. He came home with the face of his dead brother in his head, too. And the face of another man, quiet, with fogged-up glasses. Dreams and nightmares.

And new memories of Gray Fox. Or what was left of him, after what Snake had done. Gray Fox’s voice, through the synthesizer. Gray Fox’s forgiveness, which Snake didn’t deserve. Gray Fox’s body pressed against his own, his touch familiar in its violent intimacy.

Meryl followed him back to Alaska. The wolves had dragged off whatever had been left of Snake’s dogs. He didn’t have the heart to get new ones. They lived there alone for a while, travelling by snowmobile instead of dogsled. It was nice at first. They comforted each other. Eased their mutual pain, and tried to heal.

Meryl hated Alaska. She hated the isolation, the wildlife, the snow, and the cold. More and more, Snake felt like she hated him, too, for not being the man that she’d imagined. The hero she’d built. But she had never known him, not really. She loved a man, a legend, and Snake was just this. Dead inside. A murderer. A beast.

She put up Christmas decorations, that December. Snake tore them down. They fought. He drank. She took the snowmobile to town and left him there. Eventually, he ran out of liquor and cigarettes. It was a long walk to town in December, alone.

 

Snake made his way to the east coast. It was nightmarish, this time of year - carols in every airport and train station, Christmas lights and snow-capped rooftops and decorations on every tree. Like a Christmas movie come horribly to life. And people. So many people, everywhere he turned.

Unlike Snake, Otacon wasn’t a difficult man to find.

Snake located his building. He took a brisk walk, drank some coffee, smoked a few cigarettes, and lingered for a long time at the door before entering the building. He took the stairs - too many ambushes in elevators over the years - and knocked on the door of Otacon’s shitty little apartment.

The door opened. Snake had expected shock, even dismay. Instead, Otacon’s face lit up.

“You got my message, then,” he said, practically beaming.

Snake hadn’t even known there had been a message. Hadn’t been paying much attention to things like phone or mail. He grunted something that might be affirmation. Easier than admitting that he’d come here on his own.

“Well don’t just stand there.” Otacon opened the door wider. His apartment, behind him, was cluttered and poorly lit. “Come inside. Sit down.”

Snake glanced over the perimeter out of habit. He’d never seen a grown man with so many toys, and the walls were plastered with garish posters of humanoid robots with impractical paintjobs.

They talked. Or at least, Otacon talked, while Snake listened and occasionally grunted his understanding.

Otacon, it turned out, had been up to more than watching cartoons and filling his apartment with toys. He’d been doing the hard work of setting up an anti-Metal-Gear organization. Cleaning up his father’s legacy, and his own mistakes. Repenting for his sins.

Unlike Snake, Otacon had done what he’d intended. Had begun truly living. Begun putting his dreams into action. Had been strong when Snake himself had been weak.

“I’m calling it Philanthropy,” he said, blushing a bit and pushing his glasses up his nose. “And you should be involved, Snake. It should be the two of us. Without you, I’d be dead. And besides, you’re directly responsible for our funding.”

Snake gave a harsh chuckle - he was utterly broke, as far as he was aware. The government had put a freeze on his bank accounts, and he’d used most of his remaining cash to pay his way here. “How do you figure that?”

“Remember Natasha? How you passed all that information to her about Shadow Moses?”

Of course he remembered. “I had to. Her advice saved my ass more than a few times, back there. I owed her.”

“Well, you’ve heard of the book, right?”

He had. Meryl had told him about it. He hadn’t wanted to know. Had wanted to leave Shadow Moses behind him, to bury it in snow. But it had been stupid of him - stupid in a way that he resolved to not repeat again. He had never solved anything by burying it.

“Well, it was a best-seller.” Otacon grinned. “She made a mint. And she gave most of that to me. To us. For this, Snake.”

Otacon reached out and awkwardly gripped his hand, then pulled away again almost immediately.

“We could make a difference, Snake. Really live. Like we talked about.”

It was too much to think about. Snake sat back on the uncomfortable futon and exhaled. Even in Otacon’s ridiculous apartment, Snake couldn’t escape Christmas. A small plastic tree sat on the floor, decorated with sad-looking ornaments. Otacon had run a string of lights around his window. A melancholy blue-haired cartoon girl on his desk wore a Santa hat and skimpy red and white dress.

“I know, I know.” Otacon had followed his glances. “Too much nerd stuff. Sorry about that.”

“No,” Snake said. “That’s not it. Just, I hate Christmas.” Snake could feel Otacon staring at his face. He abruptly, badly needed a cigarette. “Gonna go smoke,” he said. “I’ll be back.”

He stood and left, and felt Otacon’s eyes on him as he went. Outside, it had gotten dark. He smoked the cigarette, and stamped it out, and smoked another. Went back up the stairs and knocked on Otacon’s door.

“Come in,” Otacon shouted from inside. “It’s unlocked.” Of course it would be. Snake would have to talk to him about that. He stepped inside.

The Christmas tree was gone. So was the ridiculous cartoon girl with the Santa hat. Otacon stood on a chair, gathering up the last of the lights.

“About Philanthropy,” Snake said. “I’ll need to sleep on it.”

Otacon let him use his futon.

 

Snake’s particular skillset meant that he would always have options. If he had wanted to go crawling back to the US military, they would’ve taken him back and found a use for him. If not, he could’ve found work almost anywhere in the world without any trouble. Could even have gone into teaching the way Master Miller had, if he was tired of the battlefield.

So when he chose to join Philanthropy, it was a real choice. One made of his own free will.

“I’ll follow you,” he said to Otacon. And he meant it. Otacon was a good man, intelligent, with a strong will and noble goals. But more than that. Otacon was a man who had refused to take a gun, even for self defense - had even stood up to Snake himself in refusing, quietly insisting that he didn’t want to hurt anyone.

Otacon pulled his offered hand back. “No,” he said. “It’s not like that. This is our group, not just mine.” He smiled. His eyes were clear and honest behind his glasses. “We’ll be co-founders, Snake. Partners.”

Snake was used to following orders. To thinking about the how, but never the what or why.

That was what had gotten him here. That had been his mistake, for all these years. No more. He would walk beside Otacon, from now on. Would take responsibility and make his own choices.

“Partners,” he agreed. They shook on it.

 

They spent the night of the 24th sitting on Otacon’s futon, eating Chinese food and watching one of his Japanese cartoons.

“I told you,” Otacon said, smug, as he started the next episode. “No matter how you feel about the holiday, we still deserve a night off.”

Snake snorted. “You do, at least.” He hadn’t been working much. Most of what needed doing right now fell outside of his area of expertise.

Otacon just smiled at him. “Everybody deserves a night off on Christmas eve, Snake. Ready to watch the next episode?”

Snake grunted. Otacon leaned forward and pushed a button on his laptop. Snake reached for another takeout box.

It didn’t have much competition, but it was still the best Christmas eve he’d ever had.

 

Things changed between them after Otacon pulled Snake, half-drowned, from the Hudson.

Snake had almost died before, but it never felt as close as this. He didn’t see his life flashing before his eyes - a mercy. Just heard Otacon calling his name and then saw darkness.

He came to in a madly-rocking motorboat, coughing up water, Otacon’s body a warm and heavy pressure on his chest.

He recognized the man’s expression, even in the dark. It was the same expression he’d seen on Gray Fox, so many times. An expression he was sure he sometimes wore himself. Otacon was trying not to lose himself in the past. Was fighting with himself. And he was winning.

Snake could barely stand. Otacon got him back to the boat that had temporarily served as their base of operations. Got them out of New York, and got Snake into a hot bath, despite his protests that he was fine, that it was summer, that the last thing needed was to be dunked in even more water.

It wasn’t until they were safe, until they were out in open water and Snake was warm and dry, that Otacon let the past reach up and take him. And Snake was there for him, like Otacon had been there. Like Gray Fox.

When he came back again, Otacon told Snake about the last time he’d pulled a drowned man out of the water. About the other traumas that had tempered him.

Snake offered up what truth he could, in return. Christmas Eve, 1999. Zanzibar Land. Gray Fox, and his father.

 

What grew between them after that reminded Snake of what he’d had with Gray Fox, sometimes. It was different, of course. The tenderness without the violence. The honesty without the fatalism. Otacon was a different man. Maybe Snake was a different man, now, too.

He and Gray Fox had helped keep each other alive, but he and Otacon did more than that.

****

Those were the best years of Snake’s life. Not the happiest, maybe - he spent a lot of time getting shot at, had a lot of sleepless nights, fought what seemed like a hopeless war. But he was doing something that mattered, with someone who mattered. That meant more than happiness.

 

Raiden never joined Philanthropy officially, but after Big Shell, he was one of them. Family. Snake joked that Raiden had earned his friendship by killing Solidus for him, so he wouldn’t have to kill all of his biological relatives himself.

Raiden laughed, shy and dark. Otacon frowned and put a hand on Snake’s shoulder.

Watching Raiden was like watching his younger self through Gray Fox’s eyes, except for the times when it was like having Gray Fox back again. Another man with deeply wounded eyes and permanent marks from the men who’d used him since childhood. Another man who was far too willing to die for him. Another man Snake couldn’t save, although he tried.

So when Raiden came back mutilated, like Gray Fox had been mutilated, it had been almost too much for Snake to bear. At least Raiden’s mind was still there - hazy from the trauma and the torture, but reliably lucid in a way that Gray Fox hadn’t been. And at least Snake could still look Raiden in the eyes.

It hurt, watching the man make the same mistakes that Snake himself had made. It wasn’t surprising when Raiden simply vanished. Otacon wanted to go looking for him, but Snake insisted that they let him go. If Raiden would come back, he would do it on his own.

Besides, the two of them had other priorities. They had to watch over Sunny.

****

After Raiden had pulled her out of the Patriot’s compound, he had entrusted the girl to their care. It made sense. Somehow, Snake and Otacon were the most domestic, reliable couple that Raiden knew, and between the two of them, they could keep Sunny out of Patriot hands indefinitely.

When he first brought her to them, she clung to Raiden and refused to look at either of them.

“Don’t cry,” Otacon said, awkward and more afraid than she was. Stupid. Snake figured that kids were like dogs - when they were scared, you should let them come to you.

Sunny clung tighter to Raiden’s thigh. “Wh- Why not?” she stuttered, through tears.

“Because,” Raiden said, calm and even, one hand in her hair. “It’s almost Christmas.”

“Wha-” Her crying ceased, out of confusion more than anything. “What’s Christmas?”

Otacon crouched down to her level. “A special holiday,” he said, “with lights and trees and decorations. And good little girls get presents.”

Sunny rubbed her eyes and sniffled. Otacon shot Snake an apologetic glance. But Snake wasn’t angry. His own comfort couldn’t take priority over Sunny’s smile.

****

And so, once again, he couldn’t escape Christmas. Sunny loved the decorations, the carols, and the lights. She spent hours online, learning new songs for them to sing, while Snake sat in the galley, smoking endless cigarettes by the vent.

Sunny asked for a pet for Christmas. Otacon got her three fuzzy chickens. “Practical and cute,” he said, when Snake grumbled. “Won’t you be glad to have fresh eggs instead of rations?” But Snake knew that he would end up being the one to feed them and clean the cages.

Snake gave Sunny something too. A photo of her mother.

It wasn’t a great shot - just a printout from his time on the tanker, so many years ago. But maybe that was better. It certainly captured the woman’s essence.

Sunny had never seen her mother before. She touched Olga’s hair, and then her own. Looked at her mother’s features, then squinted at hers, in the mirror.

They got her other, better photos over the years, by talking to what was left of the Gurlukovich Mercenaries - “Nice guys,” Snake joked, grinning, “when they aren’t trying to shoot you.” - but the first one was always Sunny’s favorite. Years later, she still had it pinned up above the stove.

 

Sunny loved Raiden, her rescuer, from the beginning. She warmed up to Otacon almost immediately. In him, she soon saw a kindred soul.

As for Snake, well... He’d never had his father’s way with children. He wondered if that had gone to Liquid, or if it had been something beyond genes, something unique to Big Boss that hadn’t been passed on to either of them.

Sunny grew to love Snake anyway, somehow. Raiden trusted him without reservation, and maybe that helped, but that couldn’t be all of it.

When Snake looked at her, he thought of Naomi. She had been around that age when Gray Fox had orphaned her. Did she remember it all, somewhere in her head? He thought about himself at that age, too. So small, and utterly alone.

Sunny had been even more alone than he had. Raiden had found her locked thirty floors deep, in a room with no people - just computers. Raiden had said she’d cried when she’d first seen the sun.

She wasn’t alone any more. She would never be again. Otacon would care for her when he was gone.

 

There were a few small advantages to being old. Everyone thought Snake was so fucking frail that, at some point, they had actually started listening to him.

So that Christmas Eve, when Otacon told Snake that Raiden and Rosemary had invited them over for dinner, and Snake sighed and shook his head and said he’d hoped for something quieter, Otacon didn’t nag him into going anyway. He just put a hand on Snake’s shoulder and squeezed, and said, “I understand. I’ll let them know.”

“Another night,” Snake said. “Soon.” Raiden wouldn’t be here for long. He traveled for work. It would have to be soon, or not at all.

Otacon nodded and went to tell Sunny that Snake was too tired tonight. That they would be staying home, and having a quiet celebration here. Sunny smiled and said she didn’t mind.

Her and Otacon had put up a Christmas tree in the middle of the Nomad’s hold - a real one, this year, with lights and everything. Sunny had even gotten Snake a present. It sat under the tree, poorly wrapped and tied with a bow.  Otacon had bought some of that cookie dough that came in rolls, the kind that you don’t need any skill to make. They hummed Christmas carols together as they put them in the oven, and soon the entire hold smelled like cinnamon and pine.

Snake leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes.

“Uncle Snake!”  Sunny’s sure voice carried down the staircase. “Do you want a cookie?”

Yes, it was good, after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, and thanks to everyone who encouraged me to post and keep posting.


End file.
